Hugs and Warm Henleys
by Kym Dee
Summary: The entire pack was seated in Derek's loft for the weekly meeting; and all the former alpha knew for sure was that something wasn't right. Scott and Kira lounged on the love seat, Liam was draped over the arm of the couch by the window, Lydia seated next to him texting furiously on her phone; and Stiles, seated quietly in the chair. Quietly. Something was seriously wrong.


Something was seriously wrong.

The entire pack (sans Malia, who was on a much needed family bonding vacation with her adoptive father) was seated in Derek's loft for the weekly meeting; and all the former alpha knew for sure was that something wasn't right.

Scott and Kira lounged on the love seat, sitting in a cute yet awkward fashion, Liam was draped over the arm of the couch by the window, Lydia seated next to him texting furiously on her phone; and Stiles, seated quietly in the chair.

Quietly.

Not only quietly, but motionlessly.

Not once in the last half hour as Scott and Derek discussed the training schedule had Derek noticed a flail or a twitch or any awkward readjustment of any kind.

Something was seriously wrong.

…..

As the meeting came to a close and the pack members gradually made their way out of the loft, Derek couldn't bring himself to drag his eyes away from Stiles.

He'd been a mystery since the moment he entered the apartment that night and sat wordlessly in the warn leather chair.

"Stiles" Derek heard himself call out as the boy blankly turned his gaze in direction of the sound. "Stay for a bit, I want to talk with you."

Stiles waved off Scott's questioning eyes with a hardly registered shrug and obediently sunk back down into the chair.

Obediently.

What. The. hell.

Derek would call himself and Stiles friends, years of mutual life saving had been surprisingly good for their relationship, but friends or not, Stiles was argumentative on a good day.

Or at least he normally was.

Once everyone else has left, Derek allowed himself a moment to glance over at the boy.

How had he not noticed sooner that his skin seemed paler, and his eyes were contoured by darkened circles?

Even the honey color of his eyes seemed dull and the normal sparkle of mischief or curiosity was no where to be seen.

And his hands that usually couldn't keep to themselves for too long lay motionless on the leather cushion beneath them.

Though despite everything physical that Derek could see, it's what he couldn't see that had him all the more worried.

Stiles normally filled the silence with facts, game plans, or even just abrasive sarcasm and wit. But tonight, he wasn't himself at all.

Feeling a wave of anxiety twist and grip his stomach, to match the waves of sadness radiation off of Stiles, Derek walked cautiously towards the boy.

As though approaching an injured animal, Derek kneeled before the boy and gently took his hands, almost flinching at the ice cold temperature.

"Stiles?" He asked, voice remaining surprisingly strong contradicting everything he felt inside.

Stiles didn't speak, but his eyes snapped up, locking with Derek's.

Time froze as Derek got lost in the whiskey pooling and overflowing in the form of tears. Trickling down over pale skin, tracing over moles as it contoured the grief stricken face.

Wordlessly Derek pulled the young man towards him, wrapping his arms tightly around the shaking form and engulfing him in a protective layer of warmth, hard muscle and grey Henley.

It was as though a damn had broken as Stiles gripped Derek back, fingers sinking into the fabric of his shirt as he pulled the larger man closer. Stiles allowed himself to feel and Derek tried his best to soak it all up, to take away the pain.

It could have been hours, Derek's wasn't entirely sure, until the sobbing calmed down to quiet whimpers.

When Stiles eventually pulled away, Derek reluctantly released his arms from around the boy's fragile form.

Stiles looked as though a weight had been lifted off of his heart, though his eyes were still sad it didn't appear as crippling as before.

"10 years today." Stiles spoke, voice shaky and hoarse from his cathartic tear-filled experience.

Derek didn't need to ask to know exactly what Stiles was referring to.

His mother.

Derek didn't respond, he didn't need to, Stiles knew he understood.

Instead, he swept the boy into his arms and deposited him onto the love seat.

Stiles blinked up at him, questions forming behind his eyes, but he was clearly too drained to protest.

Within minutes, Stiles found himself wrapped in blankets and being handed a tub of ice cream as the opening credits to Star Wars rolled across the TV screen.

"Should I make some Cookies?" Derek found himself asking, ignoring the red tinge the words brought to his cheeks. He and Laura had eaten many a cookie in the name of tear management.

For the first time that night, Derek noticed a small smile threaten to form on Stiles lips as the boy shook his head and patted the couch beside him.

Derek didn't hesitate for even a second before hoping into the blanket nest he had built for Stiles.

He felt the young man's head lean against his shoulder, his body relax and the overwhelming scent of sadness lessen just a bit. He wrapped his arm protectively around Stiles as the boy burrowed against him.

"Thank you" Stiles whispered against his chest.


End file.
